The Gift of the Magi
by Liliumscribe
Summary: Our newlyweds are in a bit of a pickle. A Chrismassy story. An experiment in the present tense. Inspired by the short story of the same title by O.Henry. A oneshot.


**The Gift of the Magi **

_Inspired by the short story of the same title by O. Henry. A once off, an entirely new story. Recently posted on LiveJournal.  
_

_Disclaimer: Yet again I cannot claim to own these characters. Chiaki Shinichi and Nodame sprang from the fertile imagination of Tomoko Ninomiya._

There were words between them before he left. Angry words. Words that caused pain. Words that weren't meant to cause pain. Words that left the tongue before the mind could still. Indelible words that could not be retracted. It was the same old story rehashed over and over again. Each accusing the other of being thoughtless and each refusing to back down. He remembered the look on her face… the look of sorrow… when she told him that she was tired of just being an extra piece of luggage in his life. _You care only about your career… what about mine? Is this going to be the story of our life? That my career take a back seat to yours?_

He had slammed the door in frustration as he left but the words would follow him wherever he went that weekend.

* * *

The young husband returns from the conference in dread of the reception he would receive. Would she be angry with him still? Would she be there when he returned? A feeling of dread hovers over him as he unlocks the front door to their home.

The apartment is tidier than expected, except for copies of _Classical Life_ scattered on the living room floor. He is relieved to see her slender figure lying sound asleep on the sofa in the middle of the room. He goes over beside her to kiss her forehead but she reaches out for him and manages to trace his lips with hers. For now, all appears to be well between them.

He tells her that she shouldn't have waited up. She says nothing at first but then tells him that she had waited for him to cook her something. He is not overwhelmed with joy but pushes aside his growing irritation as they both make their way into the kitchen.

The kitchen looks used… abused even... pots and pans clutter the sink but on the makeshift dining table he sees a candle, wineglasses, cutlery and two plates laid out in readiness for a meal. He is suddenly aware of a familiar scent… spaghetti bolognaise. He is surprised and stunned that she made an attempt to cook. A peace offering it seems. In gratitude and amazement at this gesture, he reaches over to kiss her. It is a while before they release one another and then remember the peace offering, yet untouched.

He tells her he's not hungry and playfully fondles her hair, face and hands. The sash which kept her negligee hidden inside the nightgown is mysteriously undone. She giggles and they kiss again with greater passion than before. The peace offering is abandoned for the bedroom and there they remain for the rest of the night. The spaghetti in the kitchen slowly grows cold.

* * *

He is an early riser by habit and is up at the crack of dawn. She, on the other hand, is nocturnal by inclination and is buried deep under the covers, snoring gently. He does not wake her but quietly heads toward the kitchen to make a start on breakfast.

He notices and remembers the spaghetti and the late supper that did not happen. Using a fork, he cautiously allows himself a taste. It is simple but surprisingly good. A small bite turns into a full-fledge meal. So astounded is he that he wonders who actually cooked the dish.

Thirsty, he goes to the fridge for a drink ... and settles for the first thing he sees. A carton of juice. A gulp or two, the carton is soon emptied. When he throws the carton into the bin, he notices a large quantity of burnt spaghetti in the rubbish bin. He sighs and tells himself… _At least she's trying_

When she finally awakens and follows the fragrance which leads to the kitchen, she sees him making scrambled eggs. She is entranced by his movements and gazes adoringly as befitting a good wife.

While adding the finishing touches to breakfast, he tells her that he has been offered a guest conductorship with the Iceland Symphony Orchestra. He is somewhat deflated by her cool response but gradually she seems to warm up to the idea, talking irrepressibly about buying a new wardrobe for the event.

After devouring her breakfast. she leaves the apartment apparently in search of more decorations for the Christmas tree. Before leaving, she gives him a hug and dashes out the door, grabbing whatever overcoat is at hand.

He, on the other hand, heads for the study with the intention of creating order in the midst of chaos. Shuffling through papers, he finds a pile of correspondence addressed to her on the floor. Moving it slightly, he sees under the slovenly pile, an invitation from an agency to tour Australia. It details information about venues and even a rare opportunity to be pianist-in-residence at a conservatorium of music.

He is amazed that she has been given such an incredible opportunity but more astounded that she hasn't mentioned anything. He is pleased for her, until he realizes that her touring dates clashes with his appointment at the Iceland Symphony Orchestra. He staggers and collapses onto his swivel chair. His universe spins and his mind with it.

Her words before his recent departure rings in his ears. Will this be the end? The _coup de grace_ for a fledgling marriage. All he knows is that he cannot contemplate losing her. A strange murmur in his heart... telling him that he has become accustomed to her habits, her quirks and her being around. He knows also that he loves her although saying those words don't come easily to him. Iceland is nothing without her. It finally dawns on him also that he cannot ask her to give up her dreams if he is unwilling to give up his for her.

When she returns, he says nothing. She is in a jubilant mood and is inundated with large packages that she calls Christmas presents. She gives him a secretive look and chortles when he response with a mystified mien.

It becomes clear to him what he must do and feels no regret. Opportunities would come and go but there was only one Nodame. He logs onto his computer and sends an email to an acquaintance in a distant land.

* * *

It is Christmas day and he cooks up a storm. He doesn't tell her that he is doing it for her and he doesn't tell her that Christmas is not the same without her. Instead he sets the table and then watches with some satisfaction as she gobbles every last scrap of the delectable meal.

As soon as she finishes the last spoonful of dessert, she eagerly reminds him that it is time for the presents. She dives under the tree and brings out a largish box, insisting that he open his present first. He can see the excitement mounting in her eyes as he carefully pulls apart the wrapping paper. Opening the box, he sees that she has given him a pair of thick leather boots and a jacket to match. She says she saw it in a shop window and immediately thought of Iceland.

He looks at her strangely… his eyes looks suspiciously misty. _We're not going to Iceland._ He mumbles. _Now it's your turn… to open my present to you._

She rips through the paper excitedly and is pleased to find a swimming outfit and a bottle of sunscreen. But as she picks up the swimming outfit, a white envelope falls onto her lap. Pouncing on it, she looks inside and finds two tickets to see _La Boheme_ at the Sydney Opera House.

She looks him bewildered. _Are we going to Australia?_

He averts his eyes and tells her that he knows about the offer for her to tour around that country and encourages her not to pass up the opportunity.

_You weren't supposed to know about this. How did you find out?_ She exclaimed. _I thought I threw it out._

He shakes his head and tells her that he found it among a pile of things on in the study.

_I didn't want you to know._ She looks upset. _I turned them down straightaway. I sent off an email after you told me about Iceland.._

He wants to ask her why she foolishly and impetuously turned down a major career opportunity but he doesn't. He knows why… and all he can do is smile.

_So I suppose we're not going to Australia either._ He says calmly.

She looks at their gifts and cries. _But our presents…_

_They don't matter._ He tells her. _But we do._

She sits and stares numbly at the torn paper… and the presents that have lost their purpose but not their meaning. She turns to him and breaks into a smile.

_Merry Christmas, Shinichi._ She nestles up to him.

He takes her into his arms and kisses her but not before saying. _Merry Christmas… my own dear, foolish wife._


End file.
